


The Way the World Ends

by EvilDime



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Voldemort Wins, Angst, Animagus, Azkaban, Crack, Dark Harry, Drabble Collection, F/M, Fun, Gen, Horcruxes, Incompetence, M/M, Ministry of Magic, Necromancy, Next-Gen, Nifflers, Parody, Severitus, Song Parody, Songfic, Time Travel, Unspeakables
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-12-02
Updated: 2016-12-23
Packaged: 2018-09-06 01:39:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 24
Words: 11,010
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8729632
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EvilDime/pseuds/EvilDime
Summary: Collection of drabbles that  feature someone dying or someone's world coming to an end in amusing, sad or weird ways.





	1. Who Will Buy

**Author's Note:**

> This was first posted on FFN a couple of years ago. When I uploaded everything over here, it must have slipped through the cracks. So I'm posting it now, advent calendar style - though there are only 10 chapters to this one. Let's hope I'll have come up with something else to post by the 10th... ; )
> 
> I'm putting the chapters in a different order than on FFN. Because I feel like it. :P  
> 

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Let's start with a WEIRD one so you know what you're in for here... Sung to the melody of [Who Will Buy](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=11x9V1OyKpg) from the musical "Oliver!"

The Wizarding World has gone to ruin. The heroes we know and love are leaving the Leaky Cauldron to try and sell their last possessions in Muggle London.

Enter Draco, stage right, looking lost.  
"Who will buy my little pony,  
well groomed, for a penny?  
Who will buy my little pony,  
well groomed, for a penny?"

Pansy Parkinson, carrying a ball of Acromantula silk.  
"Will you buy and silk today, mistress?  
Any silk today, mistress?"

(Draco: "Who will buy my little pony?")  
(Pansy: "Any silk today, mistress?")  
(Draco: "- well groomed, for a penny.")

Enter Luna, looking exuberant and dreamy, carrying a basket of radishes:  
"Ripe dirigible plums!  
Ripe dirigible plums!  
...Ripe dirigible plums!"

(Pansy: "Any silk today, mistress?")  
(Draco: "Who will buy my little pony?")

Snape, prowling sour-faced through the background, muttering to himself:  
"Mind: clear your mind!  
Clear your foolish mind.  
Mind: clear your mind!  
Clear your foolish mind!"

(All: "Who will buy... who will buy... who will buy?")

Focus on Ginny Weasley, leaning out a window of Hogwarts castle, watching Harry circling the Quidditch pitch.  
"Who will buy this wonderful hero?  
Such a guy you never did see!"

(Draco: "Who will buy my little pony?")

Ginny:  
"Who will tie him up with a ribbon  
and put him in a bed for me?"

(Luna: "Ripe dirigible plums!")

Ginny:  
"So I can see him at my leisure  
whenever things go wrong  
and I shall keep him for my pleasure  
to last my whole life long!"

(Pansy: "Any silk today...?")

Harry, oblivious, desperately clutching his Firebolt:  
"Who will buy this wonderful broomstick?  
I'm so high I swear I could fly!"

(Snape: "Mind: clear your mind!")  
(Luna: "Ripe dirigible plums!")

Harry:  
"Me, oh my! I don't want to lose it!  
So what am I to do  
to keep the magic true?  
There must be someone  
who will buy...?"

(All: "Who will buy... who will buy... who will buy... who will buy?")

All:  
"Who will buy this wonderful hero?  
Such a guy you never did see!  
Who will tie him up with a ribbon  
and put him in a bed for me?

There'll never be a death so funny  
It has to happen twice  
Where is the man with all the money?  
He's cheap at half the price!"

Who will buy this wonderful magic?  
We're so high, we swear we can fly!  
Me, oh my! We don't want to lose it!  
So what are we to do  
to keep the magic true?"

Harry: "There must be someone who will buy...?"

All: "Who will... buy???"

[Enter Taneleer Tivan, stage left. Clears throat. "If I may...?"]

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This all started with a conversation PoetOfBabylon and I once had about Draco and his little pony, though how we got there I sure don't know.


	2. The Stalker

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> SAD one.

Colin Creevy's face is serious a he considers the person sitting across from him in the little office. Seeing nothing but truth and pain in her eyes, he finally relents.

"Very well, I will show you."

He slowly opens a drawer in his desk, takes out the fake bottom, extracts a small briefcase which he then unseals by undoing some choice keyword-protected charms.

"This is where it all started...."

He puts the first picture in front of his visitor. The woman leans in with an eager expression, only to reel back in shock.

The picture of the small raven-haired boy in the embrace of an equally black-haired, tall man would not have been so unusual, were it not for the boy's overly large clothing and the fact that the man's eyes were... red.

* * *

Other pictures follow, and the visitor is slowly coming to terms with what she is seeing.

_A_ _kiss in the night on the way to_ _H_ _ogsmeade._ _S_ _ecret meeting_ _s. F_ _ights and pain._ _S_ _ex_.

She quirks an eyebrow at the photographer at that last one, but he only shruggs. "You knew this about me already."

"True." She continues going through the pictures. The next few are especially painful.

_Harry and his friends, fighting, drifting apart, struggling back together, but in the end: failing._

Here it is, the end of the Hogwarts Trio, forever captured in a still black-and-white shot.

_Hermione Granger, storming off in frustration; Ron Weasley, with a glowing hand print on his cheek, ranting at Harry, visibly blaming him. Harry Potter, face_ _white and tear-streaked,_ _biting his lip..._ _turning his back on his former friend and walking away._

The next pictures show the battles, of which there have been many. There are pictues of heroes, cowards, innocent victims, horrible deeds, mutilated corpses. Pictures of war. They never change.

And amidst it all, Harry Potter, eyes nearly all dead and blank, but still with a spark of _something_ in them. The woman quickly flicks through the battles, looking for... Her breath cautches.

There it is.

The demise of the Dark Lord. Finally. Everyone celebrating. And right in the middle, in the center of the party and yet somehow overlooked by everyone - Harry Potter. _Crying._

* * *

"There are... two more," the photographer says hesitantly. He pushes another picture towards the woman. She picks it up. It shows a messy-haired, thin figure slowly vanishing in the darkness beneath the trees of the Forbidden Forest.

_Harry Potter. Going off alone, never to be seen again._

"You did not try to hold him back?"

Earnest eyes meet hers. "I could not have. I never mattered. All I could do was observe how it started... how it continued..."

Colin slowly puts the last picture on the table. "And this is where it ends."

_A lonely, unmarked grave deep in the Forbidden Forest._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am not entirely sure the grave is Harry's though. :P I find it entirely possible that Voldemort found out about the stalker boy before the final battle and used him to his advantage. Somewhere, far away, Harry and Voldemort might be living together in peace. ;-) ...Or not. I leave it to you. I've seen the grave, but I just don't know if it's Harry's.


	3. Fudged

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Not nice. But, umh, funny in a deranged way?

"No! You can't give him Veritaserum! With his condition, it will kill him!"  
"Aurors, take that man away," Fudge loftily commanded. Then he tilted the vial into Harry's mouth himself. "Now Potter, what does that prophecy of Dumbledore's say?"  
"I am the only one... who can kill... Volde..."  
And with these final words, Harry Potter left the wizarding world and mortal life for good.   
Fudge was not re-elected.


	4. Happy Reunion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Crack.

"Kill him, Severus."

Harry didn't know why Voldemort would no longer attempt to do the deed himself, but currently, he was more preoccupied with being afraid and hating his Potions Professor, anyway.

He had always hated Snape, and no mistake; but until Snape brought him to the Dark Lord today, he had not been aware of just how much Snape hated him.

"It is a pity my phoenix core wand has the tendency to refuse killing other phoenix-minded wizards. I'm glad they are so rare..."

Had Harry been listening, Voldemort's rambling might actually have been interesting. However, at the moment the evil smirk on Snape's face took up all of his attention.

"Good bye, Potter, you obnoxious brat!" Snape snarled and raised his wand.

Voldemort, unperturbed by the goings-on, kept up his commentary. "Of course, your wand has its own limitations, doesn't it, Severus? I am told that because dragons are fiercely loyal to their family, your wand refused when you tried to kill your drunkard Muggle father with it. Pity you had to waste good potions on a Muggle..."

"Indeed," Snape purred. "I am glad I will not have to waste my stores on this one. After all, he is not and will never be _family_ to me, in any sense of the word. _Avada Kedavra."_

Harry opened one eye, then the other. He looked straight into startled black ones.

"Family?" he asked uncertainly. "Er, hello father, I guess..."

Snape actually shook his head. "Oh, you've got to be kidding me!"

 


	5. Pretty Good

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Research indicates that listening to Musicals while reading about Harry Potter being captured by Death Eaters will screw with your head.  
> Chapter warning for ridiculous character death.

_"I feel pretty,_  
_Oh, so pretty,_  
_I feel pretty and witty and gaaay...!"_

Voldemort watched with uncomprehending eyes as Harry Potter stopped begging and sobbing and suddenly stood up from the floor - which his wounds should have made impossible, let alone the detached impassivity he had displayed for some time now.

But Potter, in his torn and blood crusted pyjamas, came to his feet in one flowing motion. He took one hesitating step to his left, swayed his hips, took another step; lifted the hem of his destroyed nightshirt as though it were a girly dress; and then he began dancing.

_"I feel pretty..."_

Voldemort and twelve of his most trusted Death Eaters watched in baffled silence as the formerly mostly-dead Boy-Who-Lived whirled and pranced through the Dark Lord's conference hall like he had not a care in the world, singing and dancing to an exceedingly odd muggle song.

Suddenly, the tune changed. Voldemort blinked. Potter now looked not even half as mad as he had a minute ago.

_"I like to be in America,"_ the boy sang, and there was a note of newly awakened determination to his song. Then, with a 'crack' that would echo through the hall for a long time to come, he vanished. 

Voldemort, for his part, suddenly remembered an old muggle song he had heard while he still lived in the orphanage. _"Time tooooo say gooooood-byyeee..."_

Totally pissed with the workings of his weird brain, the Dark Lord proceeded to repeatedly bash his head against the wall until his lifeless body sank to the floor in blessed silence.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Songs quoted: "I feel pretty" and "America" from the West Side Story. Also, "Time to say Goodbye" by Andrea Bocelli and Sarah Brightman.


	6. His Miracle

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Um, kinda really sad, I guess? In a mildly crack-y way.

_"There can be miracles_   
_When you believe_   
_Though hope is frail_   
_It's hard to kill_   
_Who knows what miracles_   
_You can achieve_   
_When you believe_   
_Somehow you will..."_

The dark shape on the floor of the small cell weakly lifted its head. Blurry vision suddenly became sharp and focused, for the first time in weeks. The old muggle song not heard since that last, fateful summer started ringing in the head covered by dirty, matted hair, louder and louder, until the prisoner wasn't even aware of his own painful moans anymore.

And suddenly, the world around him ceased to matter.

It did not matter that he was on his knees in a cold, dark and hopeless place.

It did not matter that he had not seen the sun in almost five months.

It did not matter that his scar was by now the part of his body that hurt least.

It did not matter that he knew he had failed.

None of it mattered anymore.

Somewhere in this world or beyond, there was peace, and quiet. He never thought he would know those again. Not after they had cursed him to stay alive through his torments. Not after they stripped him of his garments, his integrity, his beliefs, and his hope.

But they had forgotten one important truth far older than wars and Dark Lords, older than heroes and wizards and all. It was a truth he himself had forgotten, but now it appeared before his eyes, shining brightly like the sun, and that truth gave him hope.

There could be miracles.

He smiled.

The song and light stretched all around him, and without looking back, he let them carry him away.

And so died Harry Potter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Song: "There Can Be Miracles" by Mariah Carey.


	7. Innocent

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Azkaban. Kinda dark.

The men stared in horror at the unmoving figure slouched in a corner of the cell. All that was left of their hero, their hope, the last of the Potters, was a broken, insane young man, disconnected from reality and completely innocent of the crime he had been imprisoned for.

"Harry, my dear boy...," Dumbledore began as he knelt down beside his former student. Sirius leaned in closer, along with Percy Weasley - accompanying the minister, who was not quite his pompous self, yet insanely curious as to the insanity of Dumbledore's golden boy.

Who suddenly moved, after all.

"Harry? We have come to tell you that we -"

It took a second. No, less than a second. In a flurry of motion, Harry Potter exploded from his crouched position against the wall and struck at three of the four people crowding him in quick succession.

"...know you're innocent," Dumbledore breathed out. Then he fell down to the floor, dead.

Harry had cut the throats of the three men with a sharpened piece of rock.

Cold, green eyes looked up at the last man standing – Percy Weasley. "So, innocent, am I?" he asked hoarsely.


	8. Homecoming

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Slash, and probably underage (nothing explicit, though).

The four teenagers in the magical carriage were jostled about as the vehicle came to an abrupt stop. Harry, Neville, Ron and Hermione looked at each other in confusion.

"Why did we stop? We're in the middle of nowhere!" Hermione cried. She looked anxiously out of the window.

"Do you think it might be Death Eaters?" Neville whispered.

"I don't see anything..." Ron commented, also looking out the window.

"One way to find out," Harry said, opening the door. He ignored his friends' cries and stepped outside.

If it were Death Eaters, he would be surprised, but not shocked. Out of the four of them, he knew he was the most likely to survive an encounter with a Death Eater without so much as a scratch. He snorted. Unless he pissed them off royally, that was.

"No one in sight," Harry drawled lazily, trying to figure out what was going on. His eyes widened as he realized exactly where they were.

At the gates of the Hogwarts school grounds. And also at the border of the wards. Suddenly, their stop made only too much sense.

Surprisingly, it was Ron, not Hermione, who came to a similar conclusion right after exiting the carriage. "Mate, don't tell me you're barred from entering the school again!"

"Again?" Neville asked in confusion.

"Well, it's just like second year," Ron explained, "when Malfoy's crazy House Elf was trying to protect Harry and thought the best way to do that would be to close the gate to Platform 9 ¾ to Harry. It bloody hurt, running up against that thing!"

Harry sighed. Ron was close, but not quite right. "I don't know of any slightly homicidal House Elves that might currently feel inclined to protect me."

But of course, he could not tell his friends the real reason, either.

"Try whether you can step through."

One after the other, his friends went through the gate. All three of them were now on Hogwarts ground. Harry tried to follow them, but it was as he had feared: The wards refused him.

"Well, it's obvious that something is holding me back, and it's specific to me alone. How about you three go on up ahead and tell a teacher to come get me?"

"Harry! We can't leave you out here alone. What if a Death Eater comes by? They can't enter the Hogwarts Grounds, but out here, you're easy prey!"

"And you think two of us have a chance against a group of Death Eaters?" Harry asked cynically. Then he relented. "I have my father's cloak with me, Hermione. I'll be fine. But the three of you really should get out of the rain before you catch a cold."

Hermione still didn't like it, but eventually, she gave in.

Harry watched his three friends walk away, and he shivered at the sight. But not from the cold and the rain. He wondered when he would ever see them again, and if, when the time came, they would raise their wands against him.

Shrugging off the somber thoughts, he pressed his wand to his left arm and Apparated.

* * *

"Back already?"

"The wards wouldn't let me in."

"That is surprising. Snape is keyed in, but they did let in Quirrell, Peter and Barty."

"Apparently, they like me less than a Death Eater with the Dark Lord sticking out of his head."

That earned him a laugh.

"Oh, but then you have a Dark Lord _inside_ your head most days, not to mention other parts of your anatomy. Though they might simply have finally upgraded the wards."

Harry slapped the other man for his lewd joke, then sank down in his lap anyway.

"Some days, loving a Dark Lord seems more trouble than it's worth, Tom."

His Lord and lover smiled at him."Yes, but you love me anyway."

Harry nodded ruefully, then turned his head to kiss the older man.

And they became one.


	9. Poetry

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cracky unhappy ending.

"Potter! What does that mean? Whose body is this?" Malfoy pointed to the slack form of a currently expiring Dark Lord.

"Are you fond of poetry, Malfoy?" Harry asked with a smirk.

The aristocratic man stared at him with wild eyes.

"Ever heard of John Donne?" Harry stalked closer when Malfoy suddenly turned deathly pale and clutched at his Dark Mark.

" _Never_ _send to know_ _for whom the_ _b_ _ell tolls_ , " Harry quoted in his ear, " _it tolls for thee._ "

And as Voldemort breathed his last, so did his Death Eaters everywhere in the world. Malfoy collapsed without a sound. And Harry looked down on him with contempt.

"Idiot," he snarked before he apparated away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Poem: "Meditation XVII" by John Donne.


	10. Lather, Rinse, Repeat

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cracky time-travel shenanigans.

Harry looked around the tiny pantry off Grimmauld Place No. 12's kitchen. He'd have to sneak out of the house silently, since it seemed inhabited. Obviously, he'd gone back in time a good deal further than he originally planned.

Well, he would make sure to keep this time's Harry Potter out of trouble...

A tiny 'crack' alerted him to someone apparating right next to him.

Someone invisible.

"What--!"

This sounded very much like his own voice.

With a sinking feeling in his stomach, Harry raised a hand to tear the invisibility cloak off the other guy.

He might as well have looked into a mirror.

"You...?"

"After the battle of Hogwarts. You?"

"Same."

"So I failed to change the past."

"But..."

"Well, Professor Snape always said it was a foolish thing to temper around with time. Guess he was right."

"Well, I won't fail like you did!"

"Hold on a sec, I only just got here!"

"Yeah, but you obviously failed, since I'm here too!"

"Well I'd like to see you do better!"

As they gave each other their best glare, which both painfully realized wasn't all that scary, a 'crack' announced another person.

"What--!"

"Heh," the first Harry triumphed, "see, you failed, too!"

 

 


	11. Regime Change

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bleak political fanfiction.

He looked at his successor across the expanse of the Oval Office, thinking once more how strange it was that the same people that had wanted him now wanted this. Had he done that badly?

This was not the time nor the place for those thoughts, though. Squaring his shoulders, the President once more met the President-elect's quizzical gaze and went ahead to get this business over and done with.

"Thank you for coming on such short notice. I know you are busy building your cabinet and receiving well-wishes," - he tried not to wince - "so I will keep this short."

"I appreciate it." Nothing more than that, plus an expectantly quirked eyebrow.

"You are already in contact with most the people in power. You also know about Area 51, you know why Kennedy's killer was never named even though his identity has been confirmed, you've met with several foreign dignitaries as well as the envoy of Plarius from three galaxies over." He ticked those off on his fingers while the other man wore a mask of polite disinterest. Thinking he might yet manage to rattle this man and really not sure if he actually wanted to, he slowly continued. "There is one very important person, however, whom you still have to meet."

"Oh, really."

Undeterred, the President went on. "She represents a part of the American people who do not have a vote in our election and do not pay taxes, but they do live among us and -"

"Don't start on those illegal immigrants again," the man casually threw his way, "it's a losing battle and you know it."

"- and they are an important ally and not someone we can afford to offend. And no, I am not talking about immigrants, legal or otherwise," he finished, trying valiantly not to audibly gnash his teeth.

"Well, who is it then?"

The president walked over to the old-fashioned fireplace that many a president before him would have loved to erase from the Oval Office to give it a more modern look, but none of them ever dared. Fetching down the ornamental urn from the mantle, he took out a pinch of powder and tossed it on the grate. "Minister's Office!"

* * *

By the time of his inauguration, the future president had been obliviated five times. Still, he had managed to gather a group of dissatisfied non-magicals legally in the know about the wizarding world to research a means of magic detection; after every obliviation they re-informed him of the existence of magic and what had been done to him, and his resolve firmed.

Second Salem was reborn from the ashes of the twenties, and in no time at all the hashtag _#ItsMagic_ \- attached to pictures of crippled war veterans, natural disasters, victims of terrible diseases or malnourishment, and any other sight with a large shock factor - was trending.

Let no-one say this president did not know how to use the internet to swing public opinion.

After 100 days in office, the new president proudly announced that magic was now scientifically traceable. And by far the densest wizarding population was to be found in Great Britain, so England had better do something about that.

Her Majesty refused.

Three days later, the first long-range missiles were fired.

A week after that, England struck back. On its own, of course, having recently alienated all its previous European allies. But then, several Asian states, themselves having a high wizarding population and being quite fine with that, interceded on Britain's behalf.

It took little more than that for the rest of the world to get involved.

As World War III broke out across the globe, the former president sat in front of the TV, hugging his wife and wondering when exactly it had all gone so wrong.


	12. Family Trait

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Not the end of the world, but certainly the end of something.

"Let me get this straight. You wanted to breed the Parseltongue trait using blood Voldemort lost during a battle. You were weary of the inbred Gaunt family's madness so you thought the first couple of generations should not be inflicted upon society. And so you've kept them _in cages_?!"

Auror Potter glares at the wizard 'scientists' in utter disgust. The children in the cages shrink back from his fury, some of them beginning to cry.

"Hey, no, please don't. ...I'm not mad at you lot. ... Children, please..." Realizing he was making no impression whatsoever, Harry nodded to his partner to take care of the unauthorised genetic engineers while he tried to soothe the children. But some of them were too afraid to even take in his words. How to get their attention...?

He called up his Parseltongue.

All at once, the children in their little cages sat up straight, listening intently.

* * *

When Ron returned from delivering the scientists into their holding cells at the Ministry, he found Harry sitting on the floor, surrounded by a half dozen freed children, all of them giggling at the noises Harry was making. Ron was not to know it, but Harry had taught himself one boring summer how to affect a lisp in Parseltongue. It was an instant hit with this crowd. Even the children who'd been in cages marked 'Failure' were giggling - apparently, some gifted children had managed to evade the scientists' experiments by pretending not to understand snakes; because those brilliant wizarding scientists didn't have a way to actually _check_.

Bloody idiots.

* * *

Ginny considered herself an easy-going, loyal kind of girl. She had kept her cool when Harry brought home several confiscated ashwinder eggs from work which nearly burned down the house. She tolerated his frequent overnight absences while on a case. She had even gotten used to the three huge snakes of Merlin only knew what species that had taken up residence in their backyard. One of them glowed in the dark, the second one occasionally floated, and she'd swear she had seen the third one hungrily eyeing the neighbours' dog the day before said dog vanished without a trace. But Harry had reassured her all three of them had been defanged, their poison removed, and Harry would never risk her life by lying about something like that. Besides, they had a very lovely front yard.

But this. This was too much. Her fiancé bringing home six children, who played with those three snakes and talked to them, while Harry treated all nine of them equally! This was where Ginny Weasley drew the line.

* * *

When Ginny walked out of his life, Harry felt the kind of sadness and uncertainty one always feels at the definite end of a chapter of one's life. A constant he had gotten used to - had gotten comfortable with - was suddenly gone.

When Luna walked in, not to fill the empty space in his heart but to create an entirely new one for herself, bringing along a baby girl she'd apparently found in a cabbage in Russia, as well as an honest-to-God Crumple-Horned Snorcack, Harry was sure he'd never been happier.


	13. Poor, Misunderstood Beasties

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Match made in heaven.

"Ahem." The huge man clearly did not know what to say.

"Who are you, and how dare you come in here in the middle of the night?!" The woman demanded in a booming, unexpectedly low voice.

"Terribly sorry, ma'am," he choked out. "I didn'a mean to disturb the beauty sleep of a formidable woman such as yourself." He cautiously lowered a hand to try and gently pry the growling bulldog from his left leg. It promptly latched on to his hand instead. Raising it up to eye level, he considered the ferocious little bugger. "Fierce, in't he?"

The woman preened. "The bravest creature there is."

More at ease now, the gigantic man entered all the way and let the door fall shut behind himself. "My name is Rubeus Hagrid," he offered, holding out one hand. "I work at a school up in Scotland, although my main interest are fascinating living beings of all kinds." He beamed at her.

Narrowing her eyes to pierce him with a considering look, the woman seemed to decide that he was honest enough to be let in. "My name is Marjorie Dursley," she said as she took the offered hand - his right one; luckily, the dog had gotten the left -, as daintily as her own largeness allowed. She was pleased to see that her hand vanished nearly in its entirety when grasped by this imposing fellow.

Adjusting her dressing gown, Marge led the man into her living room, offering to make tea as he took a seat on the sofa. She noticed favourably that he was putting the hand Ripper still held on to into his lap, preventing any of his blood to stain her carpet. His other hand came up to tentatively pet Ripper. Yes, she approved.

In the kitchen, she signalled to her brother that everything was in order and to please go back to sleep; she had got this. Vernon _harrumphed_ noisily, but did as he was told. She suppressed an unladylike snort. Vernon had always followed her lead, even though he was the elder of the two. He was such a wuss.

Here he was now, with his wife and son and that awful nephew in tow, fleeing his own home. And why? Because apparently some acquaintances of the boy's dead parents - may they rest in torment - had been sending them a disturbing amount of mail. Really, who ran from paper? Vernon was always so dramatic, and that reed-thin wife of his made it even worse.

Returning to the living room with a tablet bearing her good china, she was overjoyed to notice that Ripper had apparently taken a shine to her gigantic guest. Mister Hagrid was now petting her dog with both hands, Ripper having latched onto some kind of treat the man must have passed him instead.

"He likes you!" she squealed like a little girl. "I am so happy, it's just so very rare to see people appreciating my fierce little love."

"I canna' see why," Mister Hagrid said, seeming not to mind his mangled, bleeding hand. "He's terribly cute."

"Yes, isn't he?" Marge gushed. "But most people seem to think he's dangerous. All wrongful prejudices about those darling bulldogs, I am telling you. But people fall for them still. What can you do?"

"There are so many poor, misunderstood beasties in this wide world of ours," Mister Hagrid agreed. Taking up a cup of tea, he accidentally crushed it. "Oops, sorry. I dunno me own strength sometimes," he said, blushing... and Marge was just _gone_.

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hands up: Who thinks Harry'll even make it to Hogwarts if this disaster strikes? Or survive Magical Creatures once Hagrid AND MARGE take over?


	14. That Squib Longbottom

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> BAMF!Neville. : )

Neville had once heard that in a star, it was called going nova. In a wizard, however, they called it an obscurus. By the time he reached Hogwarts age, Neville had nearly done that twice.

"Remember, Neville," his gran used to say, "you must never reach for that part of your magic. It is tainted. And you must never hurt a human soul. Once you cross that line, one way or the other, your position as head of House Longbottom is forfeited, our good name besmirched. There will be no turning back for you once you set foot on that path. Ever. Do you hear me, boy?"

"Yes gran."

He heard her. He heard her so well that he suppressed his magic to the point where even his own family suspected he might be a squib.

But better that, he thought, than using that magic, that foul magic his family was cursed with.

* * *

Harry Potter was not how Neville had imagined. He was shy, a bit clumsy and quite naïve. Still, he managed to make more friends and have a much better standing in their house than Squib Longbottom.

Neville envied him quite a bit.

He stopped envying him after the end of their first year.

His gran had not only warned him about the family curse. She'd also told him of a prophecy that her contacts had conveyed to her in part, a prophecy that might drag him into the direct line of fire once Voldemort returned.

Well. He had. And Harry looked to be exactly where Neville thought he himself was going to be: Very much in the front line of the impending war.

No, Neville did not envy him any more. He wondered if he should tell him what he knew, though.

Of course, his gran forbid him to tell anyone anything. "You are only safe as long as you keep your cards close to your chest, boy. Use that head of yours! You can do just as much good without putting your secrets out there."

Which is how Neville ended up befriending Harry and offering his help and advice a little bit at a time as opportunities arose. He gave herbology tips, friendship and loyalty. No paltry gift in their time and age. Harry seemed to appreciate it, especially during those terrifying last years.

It didn't do a thing to erase the niggling guilt.

* * *

And then Harry died.

He died for a prophecy that might not even have meant him, but Neville.

Neville looked at his friend's body cradled in the mourning giant's arms and felt cold. A black, solid wave of ice seemed to flood his veins, carrying away all the caution, the timidity and habitual self-doubt, leaving nothing but a savage, raving thirst for blood.

Clutching the Sword of Gryffindor in both hands, he focused on Nagini. He knew why Harry had wanted the snake dead, had known from the moment he first laid eyes on it. He could feel the _wrongness_ and it made him both sick and euphoric. 

This, this was the one thing he would be very, very good at, and it was time to finally let it out.

With all the force his reed-thin arms possessed, Neville brought the sword down on the twisted snake, separating head from body and destroying the fragment of a dark soul within. He smiled savagely.

Knowingly, willingly destroying a soul, or even a part of it, making it cross into the Other Realm. This was what his gran had always warned him about.

And it felt so, so good.

The cold burned in his veins like an icy flood. It churned under his skin, raging, waiting, demanding an outlet. He knew just what to give it. 

Neville had never studied any of the Forbidden Books. He didn't need to. This was his birthright, his heritage, this was the Power the Dark Lord Knows Not.

He focused his power on Harry's lifeless body and set it loose.

* * *

"You saved me," Harry said, a question in his  voice.

"You are the one who defeated Voldemort in the end," Neville said lightly. 

Harry didn't buy it. "It was more you than me wielding my wand. One could say I was only your weapon. Also, I died. You brought me back."

Neville hugged Harry tighter to him on their broom, both of them shivering  lightly  in the night air.  "In a manner of speaking."

A full-body shudder ravaged Harry then. "Am I a... I am not an Inferius, those don't talk or think," he ventured, "so am I... am I undead?" There was a sob in his voice now, and Neville turned the broom downward.

They landed on a field in the back-end of nowhere,  both boys falling to the ground in exhaustion. Lying on their backs, they gazed up at the sky together. 

"You are not undead," Neville said finally. "You were never entirely gone, so I could hold on to you rather than fetch you from the Other Realm. You never fully crossed over."

"If I am not your... zombie, or whatever," Harry said, still cautious, "then why could you control my wand? My wand _arm_ for that matter? And without anyone being the wiser."

Neville averted his eyes. "Would you hate me terribly if I told you that you are now bonded to a Necromancer?"

Harry huffed out a startled laugh. "You've got to be kidding me."

"No, actually. You are alive, and we are bonded."

"I had to die," Harry eventually whispered. "The prophecy said so."

"That prophecy could have meant me just as much as you," Neville said, "I, too, have power the Dark Lord knows not. As well as parents who defied him numerous times."

Harry was quiet for some time. "Has he marked you as his equal, though?" he finally asked.

"He might have," Neville said, reaching over to delicately trace Harry's scar. "Prophecies are never as straight-forward as they seem. He might have done, it's just that nobody noticed."

They were both silent for a while, staring up at the clouds steadily swallowing up the stars above them.

"I'm thinking of going to Egypt," Neville mentioned as casually as he could manage. "They don't persecute Necromancers there, in fact they are traditionally held in high esteem. …I don't want to go to prison."

"Yeah, that would suck."

The last of the stars were gone now, and the darkness around them was near total. For the next half-hour or so, they lay on their backs in companionable silence.

Harry's voice sounded just as faux-casual as Neville's had when he finally spoke. "England will be hell for a while. I mean, I lived _again_ , can you imagine the fuss?"

Silence. Then they both started giggling at the same time.

"So, Dover?" Harry asked.

Nicest words Neville had ever heard in his entire life.


	15. Hippocratic Oath

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Child endangerment and pre-meditated murder. (Crack)

"Avada Kedavra."

Harry stared uncomprehending at Dumbledore's unmoving body. "Umh... Madam Pomfrey?"

The mediwitch matter-of-factly pocketed her wand, then went about disposing of the headmaster's remains calm as you please.

Harry fingered his own wand, having finally retrieved it from his bedside table once the worst of the shock wore off. "Madam Pomfrey," he said again.

"Yes, what is it, child? I'm a mite busy."

"You just killed Headmaster Dumbledore."

"Yes, so I did," the mediwitch frankly admitted. "I'd be grateful if you _never_ mentioned that again, though."

"But... why?" Harry asked. Not that he wasn't grateful. The man had kept him in the dark for so long it had cost him several friends, part of his sanity and today, finally,  also his left leg, which apparently could not be magically healed. And to learn now that all of that could have been avoided?

Still. "I thought you respected him."

"I did." Madam Pomfrey frowned. "Until he forgot how to spell compassion."

Uh. "Don't we need him, though? To fight against, you know, _Voldemort_?"

The mediwitch stopped puttering about - and were those  _jam glasses_ she was currently transferring bits of the man's skin into? - long enough to send him a very intense look. "No. We do not."

Harry gulped. He believed her.

Apparently, Hippocrates had not been a wizard.


	16. Guinea Pigs

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Crack.

"As far as we can tell, it all started with young Mister Weasley casting a slug-eating curse at Mister Goyle. One of the slugs escaped and Mister Malfoy slipped on it, causing his curse to hit the wrong target, namely Madam Lestrange. Madam Lestrange was temporarily incapacitated by the Cruciatus, freeing her duelling partner Mister Black to adequately defend against Mister Avery, who was at that time trying to curse him in the back. When Mister Avery went down screaming, his arm must have hit Mister Goyle, who as a consequence spewed slugs at the three people closest to him. Hence, Miss Granger, Mister Weasley and the Dark Lord were all distracted long enough for Mister Black to jump between them to shield the two teenagers, while Mister Moody gave killing the Dark Lord his best shot - which failed, however, causing a backlash that took out the south side of the room and knocked everyone present arse over teakettle. While some of the room's occupants were thus eliminated from the fight, most of them were back on their feet and continuing the fight within seconds... Of course, any nitwit can tell as much if they only look at the scene for a few seconds."

Minister Fudge nodded sagely, prompting the man to continue his detailed account.

"We further determined from the position of the bodies on the floor and the level to which those retaining consciousness were incapacitated that at least one magical creature was involved in the continued fight. The most likely being, of course, the Dark Lord's pet snake, although an argument can be made for Mister Potter's owl. However, findings of paw prints matching a large dog, possibly even a Grim, in the sands spilled in the Chamber of Time have let our researchers to conclude that..."

The Minister was starting to become impatient, fingers drumming restlessly on his desk. Hours seemed to pass as the bespectacled researcher droned on undeterred.

"...of course, that is when the chicken ran past, startling the toad into jumping on Mister Avery's foot, throwing off his balance at a crucial moment. Oh, that reminds me, please sign this …"

Minister Fudge jumped on the offered paper, eager for the conference to come to an end. Giving it a cursory glance, he signed the request for funding concerning research into the animal parts found on the scene. He very much hoped this would be all. It was not to be, though.

"This could have been the end of it," the Unspeakable was saying, pushing his glasses back up his nose and turning another page in his lengthy report, "were it not for the influence of the time turners. Now when Mister Crabbe entered the room, still under the influence as it were..."

Cornelius felt like banging his head off the table.

"...which lead to Mister Avery performing a brief waltz with Miss Lovegood, in the course of which several valuable artefacts were destroyed and five more people hit the floor, one of whom did not get up again. Then the broken prophecies entered the scene, forcefully relocated to the Death Room by the entity in the tank in the Room of Reflection. You know, of course, how fickle prophecies can be, so it is no surprise..."

A never-ending procession of minutes crawled by like treacle and still the Unspeakable was talking, with his colleague stood beside him like one of those Muggle toys that sat on their dashboards, sagely nodding their heads in time with the swaying of the car. Drowsily, Cornelius felt his own head sagging and struggled valiantly to stay awake.

"...and so that is why we propose this course of action."

Fudge blinked. Sat up straighter. Blinked again.

Was it really over?

The two Unspeakables were looking at him expectantly, three sheets of paper extended in the older one's hand. Fudge grasped all three and signed off on them sight unseen. Let them have whatever ridiculous project they wanted financed, just as long as they and that entire unholy mess in their department left him the hell alone!

* * *

Leyman turned to his superior. "So why did you ignore theory 1A in favour of theory 254.73Px10iδ? Wouldn't the stun grenade have been much more likely? We did find parts of one on the floor."

Blackwater grinned at him. "Sure it would. But it wouldn't have gotten us this!" He proudly held out the third of the signed Ministerial Decrees to Leyman.

~

_"The captured Dark Lord Voldemort and his followers, which in this context is to be read as every adult person bearing the Dark Mark captured following the fight in the Ministry's Department of Mysteries on the 8 th of June, 1995, are hitherto given into the care of said department for the purpose of intense study and research..."_

~

  
  


  
  



	17. King's Cross

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A bit angsty. Child neglect.

Harry looked at the ugly baby. "NO," he said.

"No, what?" The spectre of Dumbledore blinked, betraying some confusion.

"No," Harry clarified, "this is _not_ how it ends."

"Of course not, my dear boy," Dumbledore said, warmly but still with a hint of confusion. They had already talked about this, after all.

But that was not what Harry meant. "Not for me. For  _him_ !" He nodded at the flayed and struggling infant. 

When Dumbledore still didn't seem to catch his meaning, Harry sat down on a readily appearing bench and put his head in his hands, propped up on his bent knees. "Look. I know you see me as your shining hero, the boy who did everything right and probably also the one thing  _you_ did right, redeeming you from the mistakes of your past. What you don't seem to understand, however, is that  _this could have been me!_

"I am just as much an orphan as Tom Riddle ever was, blood family notwithstanding. And but for his shining bad example, I might have ended up as vengeful and bitter as him! It was your bright idea to send me back to the Dursleys each summer just as much as Tom Riddle had to return to the orphanage where he was so unhappy year after year. Both of us went through hell while you stood by, watching. And now you're telling me to just ignore the one that went wrong and enjoy being the success story? No!"

Determinedly pulling himself together, Harry reached out to the repulsive, twisted little parody of a human being and lifted it into his arms. It started bawling, loudly and inconsolably, but Harry just held on, gently cupping the naked little head in his palm and guiding it to lie against his chest.

The infant quieted down and a shaky little hand grabbed a fold of his cloak and fisted into it, holding on as though the little creature knew it was for dear life.

When Harry looked up from his scrutiny of this crippled, tragic sliver of a soul, he found Dumbledore watching him with an unhappy frown.

"I don't care," Harry spat before the man could even open his mouth. "Whether you are the ghost of Dumbledore, or a representation of Fate, God or the Utter Randomness that is Life, huh, or maybe a figment of my imagination - I know what you're about to say and I. Don't. CARE!"

He stood there, panting and wondering what even was going to happen to him. Then, cocking his head, he made an educated guess: "So. You're going to propose I leave this child, go back out there and kill Voldemort." He looked down at the baby in his arms. "Yeah - not going to happen. I am not actually dependent on you for my return."

As he spoke the words, he felt them to be true. His father's cloak materialized around his shoulders, with the Resurrection Stone a comforting weight in his pocket. He took a firm hold of the Elder Wand as soon as it became tangible.

"You just said it: I am the master of Death. Just try to stop me!"

Defeat  was a really good look  on Dumbledore, Harry thought as King's Cross station dissolved around him. 

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Most of the ideas I have left are not even half formulated, but tend towards the very dark, which feels weird only a week before Christmas. I'd be happy to take prompts if you have anything happier for me that still sort of fits the theme.


	18. Not Really A Chapter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sorry guys. I have some ideas, but zero time. I'll try to get at least one of them written tomorrow. Until then, there's these two sentences that are kind of a story in themselves. *shrugs*

It was the final battle. Again.


	19. End of a Line

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Next generation fluff.

"I say it's over."

"I don't know, I'm still not sure about Lily."

"How can you _not_ be sure? It's entirely obvious!"

"Well,  _she_ claims it's just a phase."

"Right."

"Yes, I know. They really do look perfect together, don't they?"

Both parents sighed heavily. Then Ginny lifted her head off Harry's chest. "Time to get up, you think?"

"We'd probably better," he agreed, but then turned around and waggled his eyebrows at her. "Or we could try again."

She laughed and hit him with a pillow. "Silly. Like that would end any differently."

"Grandchildren would have been nice," he said plaintively.

She frowned. "I don't know. I think my brothers' brood will produce enough of those for us to have our share of babies to coddle, wouldn't you agree?"

Harry shuddered at the thought of the dozens of Weasley offspring sure to dominate England in a few years' time. "Hogwarts will be red," he whispered, awed. "And I'm not even talking about Ingress."

Ginny hit him with the pillow again for talking games in the bedroom. He retaliated by tickling her until she fled to the bathroom, laughing and shrieking in mock-terror.

"Dad, Mom, don't be so obvious about having sex," an unhappy voice yelled from the hallway.

"Oi, respect your elders, James!" Harry yelled back good-naturedly to his only child currently staying at their house. "And you're so very wrong. We were just getting up."

"Dad, I did _not_ need to know that!"

Harry laughed, conceding defeat.

"You think it's worse for him thinking about his parents having sex than it would be for a straight son?" Ginny asked, emerging from the bathroom with her hair still a mess, brush held tightly in one hand.

"Don't know, don't have any," Harry replied cheekily," but nah. That's always going to be embarrassing, no matter your  own preferences. And I must say I fully agree with him there. I did  _not_ need to know what my son looks like in a sexual situation with my best frenemy's son."

Ginny patted his shoulder consolingly. She hadn't been there when he came home early to find James and Scorpius getting it on in the living room, but she sure did not envy him the embarrassment.  She had felt bad enough when she came across Albus and Leo kissing when they were twelve. They both hadn't really met her eyes for weeks afterwards. 

Neither of them had ever walked in on Lily and her partner, though. Maybe girls were just cautious that way.  Although Lily was also much more oblivious than the boys. Did she really think her relationship with Sarah was just a phase? 

It was true, though, that she also looked at boys sometimes. ...Harry might have a point when he said that their daughter was savvy enough she might be able to safely negotiate the turbulences and potential pitfalls of a  ménage-à-trois. Maybe the House of Potter was not quite doomed to extinction yet. 

While preparing a large Sunday breakfast together,  they talked some more about it. 

"Five galleons says they're getting married before the year is out," Ginny offered. 

"You're on," Harry said. "I will hold out hope for offspring until proven wrong."

Just then the back door flew open and Lily breezed in. "I did it!!!"

Harry and Ginny dropped everything they were holding and rushed over to hug their daughter.

"Lils, that's fantastic!" Ginny gushed. "So what is it? Tell us, girl, c'mon!"

"Or even better: show us," Harry encouraged her. "I really, really want to see." He beamed at her like a kid in a candy shop. 

Letting go of her parents, Lily took a step back. "Okay, here it goes."

Then she transformed into a beautiful white swan.

Harry looked up at her with fierce love and appreciation. His daughter was such a genius! Then his eyes widened and he dug several galleons out of his pocket, solemnly pushing them at Ginny.

Swans are monogamous.


	20. Shiny Things

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cute, cracky disaster.

"Well then." Hermione raised the Basilisk's fang above her head, taking a moment to mentally prepare herself. This was it. She was going to destroy her first horcrux. Locking her grip on the humongous fang and focusing on her task, she opened her eyes and-

"What?"

The cup was gone.

"Ron? Ron! Did you take the cup? You know those things are dangerous, you can't -"

"Hold on a minute! I did not take it," Ron replied, alarmed. "Why would I? I've already had more close contact with Voldemort's soul than I ever wanted to, thank you very much. I was keeping a lookout on the hallway right here _where you put me._ "

"Alright, sorry," Hermione said, frantically looking around.

Ron stepped over, tentatively laying an arm around her shoulders to try and soothe her. It worked, to a point. Hermione calmed down enough to think rationally for a moment. That's all it took.

"Oh my God."

"What? What is it?" By now, Ron was starting to feel twitchy, as well. Hermione was once more looking around the room like some cute little rodent searching for a bolt hole.

Actually, that is precisely what she was doing.

And she even found one. A bolt hole, that is.

"Somehow," she said, taking a deep breath and trying not to cry, "I think that part of Voldemort is at this very moment getting really cozy with a Niffler."


	21. Mobbing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dark.

"...and so we are proud to release yet another year of brilliant young students out into the world. May you all continue to grow in mind, in magic and in personality as you have been doing these past seven years. Hogwarts wishes you the very best!"

Cheers rang out across the Great Hall, hats went flying, and everyone was happy for once. They all knew it wouldn't last, for outside the school's protection, there was war. But just for today, the graduates were free to ignore the world outside and celebrate their personal success with friends and family.

Well. Those who hadn't lost all their family to the war raging for six years already, but even those children usually had friends to hug and to cheer with.

All except one.

One lonely seventh year was sullenly perched on a bench in a dark corner of the Great Hall where he had retreated as soon as he got his diploma. This particular Slytherin student had no friends, and no family. And everyone, he was quite sure, would be very glad to see the back of him, his bigoted Head of House as much as all of his arrogant pureblood classmates. And the rest of the school as well, obviously, since he was an evil Slytherin.

Getting up to leave, he overheard two of his classmates discussing the party taking place at a bar in Knockturn Alley that night where every Slytherin graduate was sure to be. Well, all but one, obviously. Laughing at his expense without even seeing him standing there, silently fuming, they went on their merry way.

And his mind was finally made up.

That night, he brought to bear the entire hard-earned skill set that life at Hogwarts had given him: the ability to be invisible without even uttering a spell; the knowledge of how to curse unsuspecting muggles to make them give him what he needed; the wherewithal to navigate Knockturn Alley without getting mugged, kidnapped or killed; and the undiluted hatred that enabled him to perform this task without a shred of hesitation or doubt.

That night, he proved that all the pure blood in the world did not protect a wizard from a simple dose of muggle arsenic.

That night, Harry Potter killed for the first time. And the second. And the third...

The wizarding world was better off without the Slytherin class of 1998 anyway.


	22. Groundhog Life

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pretty dark and mean.

...and he was returned to his eleven year old self yet again.

Harry curled up in his wardrobe, trying and failing not to cry. A dozen iterations of his Hogwarts years and things only ever seemed to get worse. And no matter what he did, if he survived past his seventh year, he always woke up on his eighteenth birthday and was eleven again.

Wiping his nose, he slowly sat up.

Well.

Very well then.

Someone was obviously having a ball making him jump through the same hoops again and again only to keep falling short. How about he stopped jumping to their tune?

This life, he would not try to be Gryffindor's hero boy. He would not even attempt to rescue Sirius, and oh he was going to have _fun_! Why bother pretending to study things he'd already learned ten times over? (He admittedly hadn't learned a lot of the curriculum during his first life, too busy focusing on not dying.)

So screw studying. Much better to fly circles around the towers as a first year when he wasn't even allowed to own a broom yet. A stolen one did the trick just fine. Much better to spy on the seventh year girls in the prefects' bathroom and in the quidditch locker rooms. Much better to get high on some of the lovely herbs that grew unnoticed behind Hagrid's hut.

Much, much better, really, than trying and failing yet again.

As he consciously stopped himself from caring, Harry grew darker and darker in the eyes of those around him. When Hermione was mauled by the troll, he just shrugged, sure he would see her again alive and happy in the next life. When Voldemort rose again with the help of the Philosopher's stone, he didn't really care - it would have happened sooner or later anyway. And finding out how much treacle tart he could eat in one night was really a much better use of his time than chasing Voldemort through Dumbledore's little test.

In this life, Harry did not make any friends. And he stood by and watched as the ones he used to call friends were killed, hurt, tortured or abandoned. It did not touch him, for none of it seemed real. How much emotion can you really muster upon seeing the same person die for the twelfth time? Harry was sick of being in a constant state of mourning. So he just... stopped.

He made his first horcrux at age fourteen. Just because. It was really useful to have access to a tiny pet rat with a soul. Ron would get over the loss soon enough.

By age sixteen, he had gained enough of a reputation in Hogwarts and - via the students' letters and tales to their parents over the summer - also in the wider world outside, that Voldemort was now trying to recruit him rather than kill him.

Harry accepted. Because, why not?

About a year later, after stealthily gathering and destroying the Dark Lord's horcruxes one by one, he managed to get in a lucky shot, kill the man... and make himself another horcrux.

Fate must really hate Death Eaters, for she decreed that since Harry had defeated their Lord while magically connected to him, he was now their rightful owner. Control over their marks was transferred to him and boy, was he ever going to abuse that!

Harry sent his slaves out on amusing errands to wreak the entertaining kind of havoc. He'd never liked the Chunnel, so he had it filled up with dragon dung. Hogsmeade was visited by a group of naked Death Eater dancers, scarring its inhabitants for life with the sight. That ridiculous fountain in the Ministry of Magic? Infected with the magical equivalent of a tiny black hole that would slowly eat up the entire ministry unless stopped. He wondered if the Unspeakables knew how to stop the thing; he sure didn't.

Harry was unaware if the Death Eaters still continued with their usual sports, like muggle hunting, once they fulfilled his tasks; he never bothered to ask. He knew people called him the Young Dark Lord, which secretly amused him enough to hold on to his position and play with his Death Eaters some more.

Eventually, it got boring, though. He had no-one to share a joke with, no-one to hug, no-one who was even glad he was alive. His Death Eaters hated him for what he made them do, while the general populace hated him for what he didn't stop them from doing. _Everyone_ hated him, and while that was quite the accomplishment in itself, it did get old.

So Harry started counting down the days to his eighteenth birthday eagerly, wanting nothing more than to return to age eleven and meet all his absent friends again. He went to bed on the evening before his eighteenth birthday with a happy smile on his face for the first time in what seemed like ages.

And for the first time ever, he turned eighteen.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Inspired by [Sisyphus](http://archiveofourown.org/works/1113651) by esama, which is so very much more evil than this one. *bows to surpremely mean author*  
> If you like getting depressed in new and inventive ways, you need to go read that.


	23. Sword of Damocles

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Another nasty one. Mean (realistic?) slavery AU. I promise I'm working on something nicer for tomorrow. ; )

"Yes, I do!"

They kissed, and the wedding congregation cheered. Harry beamed at Severus and both men's hearts felt fit to burst with joy. This, this was all either of them had ever wanted. They were in love, together, alive; they had won the war, laid all their differences to rest, and even all of Harry's friends were happy for them.

Not that it had ever been easy.

When Harry was hit by that slavery spell in his fifth year, binding him firmly to his most hated teacher and threatening to kill him if he so much as raised a hand against his master, he had been sure his life was over.

Harry and Severus had spent most of Harry's sixth year sniping at each other - which gave both of them headaches, Harry's being partly caused by the spell and Severus's entirely stress-induced -, at times trying to avoid each other, but always forced into close proximity again after too little time by the blasted spell, succeeding only in making each other miserable. Harry's grades had slipped and he'd barely made it to seventh year at all.

Voldemort left Hogwarts mostly alone, causing terror and mayhem elsewhere, which gave Harry ample time to slip into a severe depression. The day he tried to deliberately punch Severus in the face to end his own life - and make a statement - was the lowest point in their long, painful acquaintance.

But they made it through. They finally started to not only talk, but also listen. They discovered that Severus could indeed teach Harry things if he did not assume from the start that Harry was incapable of learning, while Harry was entirely capable of learning from Severus if he occasionally calmly pointed out where he had difficulties and trusted in Severus to explain.

After Harry graduated, he could still not leave Hogwarts. Left at loose ends, he put everything he had into the war effort, Severus firmly at his side. It still took them several years, but in the end, they were victorious. Adversity had thrown them together, but somewhere along the line, grudging tolerance had grown into respect, evolving into companionship and finally love.

And here they were, today, over a year after Voldemort was finally defeated. The world was settling down again, things slowly inching their way back toward something approaching normal, and now was the time for joyous celebrations.

"Never thought we'd make it through," Harry sighed into Severus's shoulder where they sat at the long table, feeding each other spoonfuls of delicious dessert from the large buffet at the side of the hall.

"Neither did I," Severus agreed. He took another bite of the nice crumbly walnut pie. It didn't go down the right way, however, and he made a strangled noise as it got lodged in his throat.

Harry's eyes widened. He quickly raised one hand to give his husband's back a nice strong pat. Unfortunately, Severus was just turning around to spit out the offending bit of pie.

Harry's hand connected solidly with Severus's face.

The world stopped.


	24. Return of the Parselkids

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This one's for PhobiaRice, and it's a nice one, as promised. ^^

The Dark Lord von Neuffen turned around, wand nervously held at his side, trying to keep all of the attackers in his sights. Which was proving impossible as two Aurors became three, then five, while snakes kept rising out of the tall grass all around him.

In a matter of seconds, where there had been a ridiculous patrol of two, he suddenly saw himself surrounded by a near dozen magical beings all intent on hurting him. His own guard had mysteriously dropped a minute ago, although assuming those snakes were poisonous, he had a good idea of what had happened to them.

"Drop your wand," one of the twins - wait, there were more that two with the same face. What kind of unit was this? - ordered calmly.

Von Neuffen was not about to bow down to a jumped-up group of British wizards. He knew they had only survived their last dark lord with the dumbest luck. England was ripe for the picking, he knew it. He had come to conquer the island, and by the gods, so he would!

_"Ssssahs!"_ one of the twin Aurors suddenly hissed, and von Neuffen flinched in surprise. 

_"Shissseeethi,"_ a snake hissed  as though in answer. 

Another Auror joined in, this one apparently a female but still with an uncanny resemblance to the others, with a drawn-out  _"Sssssssssssss..."_

Three of the snakes twitched in response, as though writhing in agony or serpentine laughter at the witch's utterance.

Von Neuffen recoiled in horror. Did England really allow this many parselmouths to live? Did they not know how dangerous those creatures were? He was a dark lord, and even he always killed a parselmouth on sight.

A hiss from behind him froze his steps. He'd nearly come into striking distance from one of the snakes behind him!

"This is madness!" He was not amused to hear the shrill note of anxiety underlying his outrage. "Have the British no sense of self-preservation?"

"We do, actually," one of the men who shared a face replied with affected casualness. "That's why people with special talents are allowed to hold jobs nowadays rather than be slaughtered. Even muggle Salem eventually learned that, you know?"

"But parselmouths!!! _"_ Von Neuffen still refused to believe it.

"Looks like this one's not a quidditch fan," one of the women remarked.

"What does quidditch have to do with the fact that England is suffering _parselmouths_ to live?"

"Well..." The woman's lips had transformed into a thin line at his words, but now  one end curled into a condescending  smirk. "If you had listened to the sports news sometime during the last decade, you might have heard of an English team that was widely successful due to the ability to  coordinate a change of plays mid-game without taking a time-out... and without anyone the wiser."

"Of course that only lasted until someone figured out that it is, in fact, possible to learn parseltongue even if you are not born with the ability," one of the men added.

"I am still amazed it took them  several years," the first woman said, amusement  saturating her voice. "After all, one of our number was not a native  speaker."

"Yes,"  the man  chimed in, "and Alyonochka is so obviously adopted!"

While most of them cracked up at what was presumably an inside joke, the only Auror with a notably different face gave a put-upon sigh and cuffed her nearest ...brother? around the ears. But it seemed to be all in good fun.

One of the snakes suddenly transformed into a woman. Animagi, as well? These British were truly startling. The woman hugged 'Alyonochka' and hissed something at her which got the witch's pouting face to brighten up again. Another parselmouth??

Von Neuffen only noticed as the ground was rushing up to meet him that all the banter may have been a ploy to distract him.

It had worked, too. How perfectly embarrassing.

* * *

_"So. We still on for dinner at_ _m_ _um and_ _d_ _ad's tonight?"_ Sammy asked as they got the foreign dark lord and his followers ready for transport to the Ministry.

 _"Yes,"_ Xander answered from where he was riding on Salisa's shoulders. _"It's at seven."_

 _"Think he's_ _managed to_ _convince her to_ _try_ _turkey again?"_ They all sniggered. Last year, the live 'turkey' their father brought home from the market had turned out to be some rare magical creature that their mother immediately rescued and decided to keep as a pet.

Along with the other two hundred and seventy-nine, not counting present company.

 _"Do you have my gift for them?"_ Xena asked, slithering up to Steve's side. He looked down on her with a fond smile. _"Of course. I am not stupid enough to forget it at home; I know I wouldn't survive your wrath."_

_"That's right,"_ she agreed, anxiety soothed. She had made him get their parents such a lovely addition to their herb garden from her salary.  She, Xander and Xavier tended towards extravagant gifts -  it  wasn't like  they had much use for the money otherwise.

_"I think this one's waking up,"_ Sasuke hissed from where he was watching the remaining dark wizards. 

_"You want me to bite him?"_ Xena asked. 

_"No, I think another dose might kill him,"_ Sasuke declined. 

_"Terrible loss, I'm sure,"_ Xena said  loftily, but stayed away. They all snickered again. 

Sasuke shot a carefully measured stunner at the poisoned wizard and he  dropped back into unconsciousness.  Sasuke's eyes twinkled.  _"And to think dad had aunt Ginny convinced that you guys were harmless."_

Amidst plenty of merry hisses, the group arranged their prisoners around a couple of portkeys and off they were. While the ten siblings left for Christmas dinner with their parents a few hours later, the dark wizards  were booked in for a deluxe  one-way  trip to Azkaban. 

It was a dark time for dark lords in wizarding Britain.

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading, everyone! That's it for the moment. I might come back and add more drabbles at some point, but for now, I'll go back to my unfinished CA fics.  
> Merry Christmas to everyone who celebrates it, and a wonderful holiday season to you all! : )


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